So Why is it I feel this way?
Looking into those blue eyes, holding him in my arms, my body went numb. I could not move. Paralysis and fear consumed me, I did not want to let go of him. He was my husband, to me, he was my protector. I was drunk.
The smell on his neck was me, sweet and a bit sour, and almost... cold. I could remember only barely the last time I'd held him and it seemed so very long ago. I thought of his smell, I had burned him into my memory that long sleepless night... a year ago perhaps...?
While he slept I counted. I counted moments spent with him and I counted heartbeats. Slowing my own to synchronize with his, I dared not breathe out of synch with him. Wanting nothing to disturb him, I held in tense agony, mindful of his every movement. I watched over his slumber and did not want to let go of a single breath. He pitched and contorted and I wanted to reach in and slaughter the dreams that made his face fill with so much hurt. I remained as alert as I could; at least I could control myself, I would not disturb him.
It was this way again, but now I was drunk and not so in control of my body nor my mind. He looked at me and kissed me, and it was awful. He has yet to learn the perfect soft and sensual kiss. I hope to teach him someday. But this thought I let go, I needed to concentrate to keep track of where all my fingers were. His spine my pinky, his shirt's edge my middle finger, my thumb at his side sliding down, my index curling beneath his shirt. My hand found his skin and I lost it again. What agony to loose it, I long to feel his flesh again, It has been many long nights since I have been able to. My other hand at his neck; collarbone, juggular, base of the skull, hairline and behind the ear, at least this hand I could find all my fingers. My left ring has been numb since we saw each other this morning.
He caresses my cheek in my dreams, but here his heavy hand rests still on my stomach, the other motionless holds onto my shoulder. And for this, for anything, I would undress for him... were I not already bare. I don't know how I got so nude so fast but it happened a while ago and the alcohol seems to permit me only glances of when and how it happened. He unhooked my bra and I giggled, I took off my socks as he crawled between my legs, the smell of me on his shoulder - I am repulsed. Taking off his shirt and hugging his chest. I breathe deep and moan and he lays me down.
I wish I hadn't let him do that, go down on me, I'd much rather smell him. As I hug him now and he bites the right side of my neck I gasp and long to smell him longer. I cannot. I claw up at his shoulder and bite into him gently, he moans. The liar, he said he does not like biting and roughness, he also said it was my fault. I fear his moans are not truth and so, with my other hand, I stroke at his back. Wrapping my knee around his thigh and my ankle around his calf I straighten his leg and contemplate rolling him over on his back. I am too drunk to coordinate it. So instead I arch my back and moan my approval of where-ever his hands are. I cannot tell whether they are between my legs, at my back, my neck, my breasts, my anything... I cannot tell because I'm numb with alcohol and fear. I don't want to be alone...
Afraid to displease him, and too drunk to control whether or not I do. This will be lousy sex for fear and alcohol. Dammit!
I want to show him a good time, I want to sit him down someday and tell him: "Be rough with me, grab me, restrain me, take me. Kiss me sensually, let me show you how to. Give me leave to be rough with you too. Ask for what you want when you want it. Allow me to ask for what I want. Don't clam up and play it safe! Let us be lovers, but know this: lovers are on the same page." I want to let him know that I want to give and take, I want to teach and be taught. I want words in bed to tell me what he's desiring.
There is silence while he looks down at me, his hands on my sides and his body hot with sweat. I cannot feel him, though he is massive. I moan to cover the silence, but I am numb. Dumbfounded by how badly I am letting this opportunity slip away. I want to grab him by the arms or the throat and have my way with him, but the alcohol, Damn this numbness, I cannot get my body to respond. Tears start streaming down my face. Feeling so little, not being able to move, it is agony and it is Hell. I contort my face to seem as though he has painfully hit rock bottom. Turning my face into the pillow I scream a silent scream of agonizing pleasure. Glancing out the side of my eyes, I want to see his reaction... Does he believe this lie of mine? Or does he know I'm numb and lying?
His reaction is one of slightly less than smug satisfaction. Politeness. Damn It All To Hell! We are sharing a most intimate of moment and neither of us can open up to each other and tell the truth!!!
Perhaps we love each other too much to risk rejection. I know that's my story.
He must have read my mind, It ends without either of us cumming.
He asks if I did. "No." I've never lied about it with him.
"No." He repeats after me in dissatisfied surprise.
He is surprised? I think: maybe I can corner him and show him how to make me come sometime. I can't tonight, too think to drunk straight, too many thoughts, too many fears.
I want to go smoke a cigarette and run screaming down the road. I want to scream vain words in his face, I want to punch him for being so cold with me. I want to force him to open up and talk to me. Like a person can be forced to do just that... ha! It is as futile a thing as getting two warring cultures to agree with each other.
Goddammit! We've been together how long now and he still won't open up to me!!! Does Our sacred Bond... Does being Family... mean nothing to him!??!?
We hold each other and my heart, for love of him, of being near him, of touching him, will not let me move a muscle.
"Dammit!" I whisper, "Why do I love you so damn much?"
I sigh, and within twenty minutes he falls asleep.
Counting heartbeats again... 76, 79 , 82, 85, skipped beat and a 1, 3, 6... We both still have arrhythmia and slow heartbeats... this time I fall asleep. Perhaps this is a sign of progress.
The next morning I leave him before he wakes up. My hangover pounding, I kiss his forehead and slip out the door singing to myself that I love him, loathsome as he may be. I Love him, and I fear he calls me his as I sometimes call him my own. This is our love? Our version of Happiness? It's not perfect; it's not even honest! So Why... Why is it I feel this way?